Cundu Yet Elentari
by elvenqueen169
Summary: The War of the Rings has ended, but a swarm of misfortunes are presented. Arwen contemplates her decision to remain in Middle Earth. Faramir must decide between his duty to Gondor and his love for Eowyn. Legolas meets a mysterious woman from his past...
1. Chapter 1 A New King and a Young Queen

Cundu Yet Elentari  
  
~Chapter One~  
  
With the fist call of the gray falcons, Aragorn parted himself from the soft covers of his bed. The room he saw before him was painted in a glorious golden tone and trimmed with impeccable ivory oak. Tall translucent doors at the south wall led to a balcony furnished with pure white. The stone rail was carved with precise, intricate designs that only elves could master.  
Aragorn stared out from the balcony to the vast lands beyond the horizons; the mountains, valleys, and open terrain. He was now king over it all. Behind him, the lord of Gondor heard a quiet moan. Slowly, he turned to face his beloved bride, Arwen.  
Even so early in the morning, Arwen Evenstar's pale, milky face held a soft, yet regal beauty. Her sea blue eyes shimmered under the waking sun's rays. Ever so delicately, Arwen tossed her long brown hair over her shoulders.  
"You are awake early," her voice rolled like a trickling brook.  
" I could not bear to remain in slumber at the prospect of my first full day of marriage to my youthful queen." His pink lips turned upward in a passionate smile.  
" The day is so young," Arwen noted, rising from her bed with care, " We might take a walk together," she suggested.  
Looking deep into her eyes, Aragorn mentally agreed. A loud tap upon the cherry wood door interrupted the stillness of the moment.  
Furrowing his brow in question, Aragorn walked towards the north wall and cautiously cracked open the heavy door. There was Gimli, looking displeased.  
"I do not care who is king around here," the dwarf rumbled, " But I am used to having breakfast on time." Gimli grinned jokingly. He shook his long beard out of the way.  
" You are welcome to any food you should like, Gimli," Aragorn soothed, "But my wife is not ready to rise yet."  
"Yes I am, my lord," Arwen stepped beside her husband, matching his height. She lovingly caressed his shoulder. Turning to look down at Gimli, Arwen sighed with a brief laugh.  
"Since you seem fond of food, master dwarf, you are welcome to show us how dwarvish food is prepared. She tightened her shiny lips to keep from laughing at the dwarf's small, but warrior-like appearance.  
Gimli paused to think, every once and a while letting out a deep grumble. Finally he tilted his neck high to stare into the plain, but expressive face of his companion. There was silence for a moment.  
Then, "I accept, my friend," came Gimli in a low, fierce voice, "But may I ask you to part from your wife for a moment. I should be greatly honored if she would escort me to the kitchen and show me all the cooking utensils." With a chuckle that sounded like thunder, Gimli pulled himself to his full height and roughly grabbed Arwen's hand.  
Wittingly, she followed, then craned her slender neck to glance upon Aragorn a last time. A simple smile told all.  
" Until later, my love," Aragorn called after her in rapid elvish, reluctant to have lost her so early in the day.  
" I will be thinking of you," Arwen replied in Quenya.  
Gimli shook his head. He continued to pull Arwen along.  
"I still don't know why you have to talk in a language I don't understand," he said with a furrowed brow.  
Arwen was lead down the flight of mahogany stairs that were covered in a rich burgundy carpet. She marveled at her new home, graceful, yet filled with powerful woodworking.  
The beige walls reminded Arwen of her room far away in Imladris. A melancholy tear found its way down her rosy cheeks. At this time, Rivendell would be empty. Though still beautiful, it remained only as a shadow of the fair elven race who once dwelled in it. A painful trauma of nostalgia reminded Arwen that her own parents were long gone across the grey havens, where they would remain immortal forever.  
A piercing thought filled the young elf's mind. Had she made the right decision? If she could do it all over again, would she have chosen a human life or eternal youth in a perfect world?  
Guiltily, Arwen threw these thoughts from her head. Picturing Aragorn's wise and handsome face, Arwen knew that she had made the right choice. 


	2. Chapter 2 A last Adventure

~Chapter Two~  
  
"Mmmm," Gimli said in his gruff voice, "This potato cake turned out very well for only using elvish cooking utensils." He burped loudly and went back to eating.  
The long maple wood table was almost full with people. Aragorn and Arwen sat at the head of the table with Gimli at their right. To Arwen's left side was Faramir, Eowyn, and Eomer. Beside Gimli was an empty chair.  
"Hmph," Gimli managed with a mouthful of potato cake, "Where is that elf? I don't suppose he is asleep still?" Gimli stabbed another forkful.  
The wide wooden door flung open instantly. At the doorway was a tall elf.  
"Legolas, where have you been?" Faramir questioned, taking a sip of water from his brass goblet.  
"I was practicing my skill with a bow," Legolas responded, his dark, perfectly-shaped eyebrows moving as he spoke.  
Legolas was an elven prince from the kingdom of Thranduil in Northern Mirkwood. His princely appearance could be denied by none. Legolas' sleek, slender body was well-toned, yet thin. His long, pale blond hair shimmered like moonlight. High cheekbones below his deep, soulful eyes added to Legolas' irrefutable beauty. His general appearance was graceful, but also quite masculine.  
Pulling back the dining chair, Legolas lowered himself into it and immediately inquired as to what was being served.  
"It's dwarf grub," Gimli informed his friend, "But you don't have to eat it. Only dwarves really like potato cakes."  
"On the contrary," Legolas' voice rolled, "I am famished. Any food would more than delight me this morning." He gratefully received the heaping plate of cakes from Faramir.  
Taking two fluffy potato cakes, Legolas elegantly took a small bite. His eyes widened.  
"Excellent, my friend," Legolas assured him, "Your cooking is perfected to the utmost degree of skill." With a warm smile, he returned to his food, everyone at the table nodding in agreement.  
When all present were full, stuffed to the brim with Gimli's special delicacy, the company divided and went about their separate ways in the palace. Aragorn remained with Gimli and Legolas, knowing that soon they would leave to enjoy Middle Earth's splendor.  
"Shall you go first to Fangorn of Helm's Deep?" Aragorn inquired, lighting his long wooden pipe.  
Taking a puff at his own pipe, Gimi responded, "Why, to the caves underneath Helm's Deep, of course."  
Legolas looked to Gimli with suspicion. The dwarf put on a very innocent smile, as much as was possible for one of his fierce race.  
"I do not recall us deciding that, Gimli. Why not explore the forest first? We might also visit my home in Mirkwood." Legolas leaned against the stone rail.  
"I say you both decide who is more worthy of the first choice,' Aragorn suggested, a glint of fun in his eyes, "Who killed more orcs at Helm's Deep?"  
"I am afraid that my companion holds that honor," Legolas conceded, "Although at Minas Tirth, I no doubt hold the record." His eyes glistened in the sun, their color unclear as either brown or blue.  
"Then we go to the caves," Gimi proclaimed victoriously, ignoring Legolas' latter comment, "I shall pack tonight, for we have no time to spare."  
"I shall be sad to leave you Aragorn," Legolas admitted, "I regret that if we go tomarrow, we may not see you for some time. The fellowship is forever divided, but I had at least thought the three most valiant warriors might enjoy companionship for a while longer." His last words brought a smile to Aragorn's kingly face. He blew a wave of smoke out toward the battlefield.  
"We shall always in memory be joined," Aragorn closed his light eyes, "Our journeys together will not be soon forgotten by me."  
"Nor I," added Legolas.  
"Not me either," Gimli said through a pillow of smoke, "I think all our minds shall remain young to this adventure. Even those so far away." He remembered Frodo and Gandalf, now on their way to the grey havens.  
"Well, no more of this sad talk," Aragorn lifted his thick brows, "Let us keep our memories joyous and dwell on happier things while we are still remain together."  
"The battlefield is still dirtied with the foul blood of Sauron's slaves," Legolas commented.  
All three stared out at the plains between the white city and Osgiliath. Piles of carrion and rotting flesh lay there still, drowning in rivers of flowing black blood. The fell odor wafted across the terrain with the morning breeze, sending chills down their spines. Huge piles of stained bones and the massive corpses of oliphaunts nearly ruined the view from the high peak of he city.  
"What say we finish what we started," Gimli spoke at last, "Though Aragorn's kingly hands may be too pure to handle dead bodies, at least Legolas and I may bring beauty once again to Gondor."  
Turning to look into Gimli's earthy brown eyes, Aragorn laughed.  
"King or not, I may still partake in the same duties as my friends. Let us go and clear the ruin that has come upon us."  
Determination in their steps, the three friends set off down the stairs for one last adventure together. 


	3. Chapter 3 Loss of a Bride

~Chapter Three~  
  
"We'll be heading back to Rohan tomorrow I imagine," Eomer stated briefly. He leaned back in the blue lined chair next to Aragorn.  
"Rohan? Tomorrow?" Faramir was startled, "I had thought we would stay here in Gondor! At least, I believed Eowyn and I would. You might stay for a few days more, Eomer." He fixed his light eyes steady upon his friend's dark ones.  
Pulling his lips together, Eomer told his friend, "I am now the king of Rohan. My city is devastated from this war. It is now my duty as the ruler to help reconstruct what was so grievously taken from us and destroyed. My people need me. Eowyn's people need her." He stood, grave and somber, quite sure of his decision.  
"Eowyn is going to be my bride. You gave us your blessing and King Theoden, Lord bless him, would have surely extended his best wishes to us had he survived the wrath of the witch king. She cannot leave me when our wedding is planned for the end of hrívë." Faramir was filled with rage at Eomer's decision.  
"Your wedding is not for over three months away. Eowyn is my sister and still holds closer relation to me. Theoden placed her under my protection. Lady Eowyn will accompany me to Rohan." Eomer fastened his bushy brows firm upon his long forehead and lifted his chin, as if to proclaim power over Faramir.  
"You do no understand, Eomer," Faramir returned a cold glance, "I am now the subordinate to only the king. My place with Gondor is strongly established. As is with my wife-to-be."  
"Never shall she leave my side until I will it so," Eomer stated stubbornly, "Keep your place, Faramir, son of Denethor, and do not provoke my anger, as to call upon yourself a withdrawal of my blessing." He turned to Aragorn, hoping for agreement.  
"I must not be involved," Aragorn said plainly, lifting his light brows, "This is not my fight, and so even as king, it is not my task to proclaim myself mediator." He arose slowly and exited from the hall.  
Faramir and Eomer stared at each other. Neither would give in.  
"Faramir!" A sweet voice echoed angelically throughout the room. Both heads turned to see Eowyn running towards them, her long white gown and floor-length sleeves flowing majestically behind her. Her river of soft blonde hair fell to her waist.  
"Eowyn," Eomer turned to her, "Pack your things for tomorrow. We are leaving for Rohan come dawn."  
Eowyn's tender seashell-colored lips rose upward in a smile. She started to leave.  
"Eowyn," Faramir stopped her, "I must say goodbye."  
She paused suddenly. Startled, she spun around, a worried look drawn on her plain, yet beautifully featured face.  
"Goodbye?" she stammered, her eyes glazing over, "What do you mean? You are coming with me, are you not?"  
Sympathetically, Faramir laid a large, course hand on her baby-soft cheek.  
"My lady," he whispered, "My place is here. My duties are to Gondor alone. Lord Aragorn needs my help reconstructing the white city. I cannot leave everything and go to Rohan."  
A few stray tears slipped from Eowyn's azure eyes. She leaned towards Faramir affectionately.  
"You must not remain here," she told him, "Rohan is my home. It was decided long ago that I would return there. I thought you cared about my happiness more than life itself! Is your choice a city over me?"  
Cut deeply at her words, Faramir inhaled and bit his tongue to keep from crying.  
"My fist duty is to Gondor. I made a pledge that I would protect it first and foremost. There is no choice involved in the matter. Never could I break my word." He turned his back to her and hung his head, filled with grief.  
Awe-stricken, Eowyn let out a pitiful sob and fled from the room, her light steps fading into the distance. Eomer looked to Faramir, retaining his composure.  
"Then your decision is made." He spun around indifferently and left Faramir in the hall, crying for the deprivation of his true love. 


End file.
